


Complications We Could Do Without

by starwarned



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, JUST PRETEND wayward son doesnt exist okay, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 1: Carry On, it's subtle and mostly poetic lmaoooo, rated m for some non explicit sex, rip shep, same time period but america didnt happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned
Summary: Simon and Baz balance work, school, and home life while remaining enthusiastically, disgustingly in love.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 24
Kudos: 52
Collections: Snowbaz Sweethearts Fic Exchange 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrSaiKellieLonore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this is my sweethearts exchange fic for [OrSaiKellieLonore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore/pseuds/OrSaiKellieLonore)! it was so fun to write something domestic and nice so thank you for your prompts!! I really hope you enjoy this fic and that you have a wonderful valentines day :) <3

**BAZ**

Simon’s new job is fucking up my life. I can say that without feeling too bad because I know he feels similarly — he’s told me over and over again (both verbally and not) that he misses me too much while he’s working, even though I know he loves the job. He comes home every night well past midnight and I’m already mostly asleep. We usually get maybe a few minutes of lucid conversation before I’m passing out in his arms. 

Because Simon tends to come home so late, I stay up hours past when I should, working on my dissertation, just hoping to catch him.. I’m really getting close to finishing the first draft of it so I push myself to work on it for hours every night. Simon says I’m working too hard. I find that a lovely piece of hypocritical bullshit. He works eight hours a day on top of part time school work. 

Simon went back to uni — we weren’t sure that he would. (We being me, Penny, and _Simon himself_.) After a few months of lying on the couch, staring at the telly and drinking cider like his life depended on it, Penny and I couldn’t take Simon like that anymore. 

I’m a strong believer in leaving things _poetically unsaid_ (which my therapist says is a result of my self-isolating tendencies and reluctance to share my feelings), but one night, about a month ago, I finally sat down with Simon, forced him to actually look at me (and not _through me,_ like he’d so commonly been doing) and talk through everything. He cried in my arms. (Which he’s done before, but that was worse. He hadn’t just killed the Mage this time.) 

But even though the night ended with Simon curled up asleep on top of me, his tears and snot staining the collar of my shirt, and his tail uncomfortably wedged underneath my thigh, I couldn’t have been happier. We were going to be okay. 

And we are okay. 

Mostly. 

Simon’s only taking a few classes because he says he doesn’t have the mental capacity to listen to lectures for that many hours a day. He was working part time at a construction company for a while, but his wings kept threatening to pop out when he strained too hard moving something heavy. And then he’d come home sore and stiff, and while we both enjoyed the ensuing massages (and the inevitable sex), it wasn’t conducive to him trying to be a _healthier person._

He just landed a new position at the Sea Life London Aquarium and took on far too many hours in an attempt to please his new boss. He works as an aquarist and took the later shifts so he usually doesn’t clock out until two or three in the morning. 

He loves it, though. Comes home with all these lovely stories of the kids who really liked the jellyfish or the stingray that jumped out of the water or the octopus that scared a snobby bloke when he was being bitchy about not needing to preserve animals when he could just eat them. I don’t dare discourage that. And, Crowley, it’s fucking soppy, but I love when Simon talks about things he loves. I could listen to him for hours. It’s rare that Simon has lots to say.

So I just shut up and take it. Simon comes home and I get to kiss him and ask him about his shift at work and then fall asleep as he’s explaining the difference between a stingray and a manta ray to me. I’m lucky to even have this. 

(I never thought I _would_ have it.) 

Tonight’s no different than any other night — Simon stumbles in the door smelling vaguely fishy and drops his bag on the sofa before tackling me into the armchair. 

“Crowley,” I groan as he lands on my lap, knocking the book out of my hands and squishing the side of his face into mine. I roll my eyes once his arms wind around me; I realize I’m not getting out of this anytime soon. “Hello, Snow,” I say quietly against his ear. It comes out a bit sarcastic but I am happy to see him — even happier to hold him. 

He hums in return, seeming too tired for words. He kisses my temple and settles further into my lap, resting the majority of his body weight against me. I run my hands softly along his spine and smile into his cheek. He’s soft and warm and I don’t mind the smell that much. He leans off of me just long enough to tug his jumper and shirt off (and I raise my eyebrows because _is that where this is going?_ ) just in time before his wings pop out again. They’re a shock everytime they burst out of his back, but they’re lovely and when Simon lets me run my hands over them, I don’t mind how large they are. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs sheepishly. “I didn’t want to ruin that shirt, too.” 

I nod. “Good to see you’re finally showing your clothing some care.” 

Simon kisses my forehead before settling back into my lap, draping himself over me and covering us with his wings. 

It’s soft. We don’t get to be soft a lot of the time. 

And then Simon presses a kiss just below my earlobe and he mumbles, “Baz?” 

My shoulders tense a bit (and then force myself to relax because I know Simon can feel it). “Yes?” 

He kisses my neck again and sits up in my lap, just barely taller than me right now. Normally, he’d tease me about it, but this suddenly feels serious. “Baz, I—” he cuts himself off and looks down at my chest so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. 

I press my knees apart so they push against Simon’s thighs. “What’s wrong, love?” 

“I—” He sighs. “They want me to pick up more hours. At— at the aquarium.” 

I wait for him to continue, even though the two sentences Simon has just said to me are the beginning of seeing him less, I’m sure of it. 

Simon looks up at me. “Evening and night shifts. So I won’t be home until four or five most nights.” 

My stomach drops into the floor, but I hide my disappointment. “Alright,” I say softly. “So I won’t see you most days.” I wince a bit at how final that sounds. 

He nods. “Yeah.” He looks sad, too, but there’s that shining love for his job underneath it and it makes my chest ache. How could I ever stand in the way of Simon _finally_ having something he loves and is passionate about? 

“We’ll survive,” I say, squeezing my arms around his hips. “I wake up at five on Tuesdays so I can see you before you go to sleep. And we’ll just spend as much time together as possible on the days you have off.” 

Simon presses his hands against my shoulders. “Baz,” he starts. “I— I. I don’t want to be away from you.” His cheeks flush like he’s embarrassed himself by admitting that. 

“It’s alright.” _It’s anything but._ “We’ll be okay.” _Will we?_ “This job is good for you and as long as you still get some days off, we can spend those together.” _Maybe._

I’m not optimistic. But I feel the need to be strong for Simon. He was clearly nervous about bringing this up to me and I don’t want him to think we shouldn’t have a strong channel of communication. (There’s something to be said there about me not communicating my worries or whatever, but _poetically unsaid_ and all that.)

Simon nods slowly. “I really like this job,” he whispers (like I haven’t already decided that I’ll give anything, sacrifice anything for him). 

I lean forward to kiss his chin. “I know,” I say. 

It’s late and I have a meeting early tomorrow morning, so Simon takes me to bed and lets me fall asleep in his arms. He combs his fingers through my hair and his warm breath hits the top of my head as I slip into sleep. I’m so enthusiastically in love that I don’t even mind his tail poking me in the side.


	2. Chapter 2

**SIMON**

My new job is fucking awesome. 

I get to sit around, watch kids be awed and inspired by sea creatures, and feed the occasional fish. My official titles are _Aquarist_ and _Collection Curator_ , but those are mostly just fancy words for making sure kids don’t try and jump in the stingray exhibit and checking on the animals at night.

I suppose I’ve loved animals for a long time, but never really had the opportunity to put it into practice. I mostly just enacted violence against dragons and chimeras that I thought would hurt me. As a new half-sort-of-dragon, I think I understand better. 

Sure, I come home smelling like fish most of the time and I rarely get to see Baz, but I’m happy when I’m at work. 

I’ve had the new job for a month now — and the new, later hours for about two weeks. I haven’t seen Baz in days. I really only see him when I come home at five in the morning and he’s already asleep in our bed. And sometimes I come home and he’s already gone for work. (He works at a posh tutoring company for rich children and has early lessons.) 

I usually shower before I get into bed with him because he’s yelled at me the few times I didn’t and got the bed all _fishy_. It’s not my fault the stingrays splash a little bit. 

I miss Baz. Seeing him while he’s sleeping (while oddly familiar) is not quite up to par for how much I want to see my boyfriend. 

But I’ve always been shit at four things: 

  1. Telling Baz what I want. (Telling anyone what I want.) I reckon I spent so long not really considering what I wanted that it’s hard to transition into that mindset now.
  2. Allowing myself to have nice things. To enjoy things. I like this job. I like it a hell of a lot more than I did the stupid construction job I had a few months ago. I’m trying to let myself have this.
  3. Managing my time. Balancing a relationship, school, and _a duty_. (Well, this job isn’t exactly my duty, but if I want to continue paying for Baz’s and my flat, I have to keep it. And I’m afraid that if I’m not working that I’ll fall back into where I was this last summer. I think it would break Baz’s heart if I went back there again.)
  4. Doing fucking anything in moderation. 



Cutting back on hours at the aquarium is something that I _could_ do, but I’m afraid of being replaced if they end up finding someone else that has more availability. Hence, taking more (and, admittedly, shittier) hours — subsequently missing out on precious Baz-time. 

But I think Baz is suffering because of it. 

I _know_ Baz is suffering because of it. 

“Baz?” I call softly when I get home tonight (earlier than usual). I step in the door and drop my keys into the bowl on the table in the hallway. Baz is particular about where my keys go and I’m inclined to follow his system because I keep misplacing them when I don’t. I hang up my coat on the hook and strip off my shirt before I’m even halfway to the kitchen. 

I don’t receive an answer from Baz so I figure he’s already in bed for the night. Which is fine — he has exams coming up and I don’t intend to get in the way of those. 

I set my shirt on the back of one of the dining room chairs before stepping to grab myself a glass of water. I’m home earlier than I’m used to so I figure I can put around and play some Halo before bed as long as I turn the volume down. 

I’m just setting up the XBox when I hear a creaky floorboard and turn to find Baz standing in the hallway, his eyes sleepy and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. (This either means I’ve woken him up and he’s upset or I _didn’t_ wake him up and he’s upset. Either way, he’s about to take me apart with a perfectly curated insult.) 

“Were you planning on telling me you were home?” he asks, leaning against the wall, looking effortlessly cool even though I’m certain he was just sleeping. I can tell he’s upset. _Fuck._

I stand up and step over to him. “I assumed you were asleep,” I admit. “And I called for you with no response so this one’s on you, darling.” 

He clenches his jaw a bit then lets it go. He absentmindedly runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You should have come to check if I was actually asleep,” he says. “Were you just going to waste some of the only time we have together playing XBox?” 

I shake my head. And then shrug. Because, I guess I was? I feel bad waking Baz up when I know he doesn’t get nearly enough rest. 

Baz sighs aggressively and leans off the wall. “Why’re you home so early?” he asks, walking over to the kitchen and flicking the light on and opening up the freezer for a snack. 

I don’t think he means it in the way it’s coming across, but it hits me square in the chest and suddenly, I feel _bad_ for being home. There’s a deep-rooted part of me that wonders if Baz would prefer it if I was still at work. He’s always loved routine.

“I—” I start, folding my arms over my chest and feeling extremely exposed — emotionally and physically. “They let me go early.” 

I didn’t think this is how our first night together in a while would be. I think I was hoping we’d snog and cuddle and go to bed early (well, early for me. It’s only just after midnight). Or at least watch a movie or something. No such luck. Now I’m caught in a deadly argument with the smartest man I’ve ever met; this very particular man also happens to know every little thing that will make me go off so he’ll win. He always does.

Baz is silent as he puts his mug of blood into the microwave. He watches it spin and I watch him. 

His hair’s getting long. 

I want to touch it, but I don’t know if he’d push me off or not. I don’t think so, but I’m a bit worried about taking the chance. I’m not good with my words, though, so I step past the counter over to him and very gently place a hand on his hip. He hesitates at my touch, but relaxes after a moment, still watching the microwave. 

I think he’s still upset. I get it. I should have come to the bedroom. I feel like a complete arse even over this stupid mistake. 

Baz takes his mug out before the microwaves beeps and I keep my hand on his hip as he turns around to lean his back against the counter and face me with the mug in his hands. I watch him as he drinks; his mouth is full of teeth. I wonder if he’ll let me kiss him when he’s done. He does sometimes. 

I lean over and nuzzle my face into Baz’s neck. He sighs but lets me, leaning into me in return. I kiss his throat. 

I can tell he’s still cross with me. His shoulders are a bit tense and I can’t get him to relax no matter how much of his neck I press kisses over. 

I attempt to wrap my arms around his waist and that’s apparently the turning point. He pushes me off him and sets his empty mug down on the counter. 

No way out of the argument, I guess. 

“Were you really going to just sit and play XBox?” Baz demands. 

I blink a bit. I shrug. 

“Shrugs won’t get you out of this, Simon.” (I don’t like it when he says my name like that. It almost overshadows the fact that he’s actually calling me _Simon._ Almost.) “You’re already never home because of this bloody job and now, when you do come home early, you don’t even bother to check if I’m awake.” 

Baz is now running a hand through his hair (a habit I fear he’s picked up from me) and tugging on it. I know Baz’s face like my own (better than) and I can tell he’s just _hurt_ and it’s coming across as anger. 

“If you’re too busy with work to spend time with your boyfriend then maybe you shouldn’t be working as much. Or you should just—” 

I cut him off because I’m terrified of where this is going. “Fuck, Baz, I’m sorry, alright?” I mutter. My feet can’t seem to stay still. I keep shuffling side to side. “I thought I’d play a bit and then come see you. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” 

Baz looks at me like I’m mental, then looks away like he can’t bear the sight of me. “Not a big deal,” he repeats, mostly under his breath. “Right.” He looks up again. 

I think I’d be freaking out more or angrier about this argument if I didn’t _see_ the hurt in his eyes. If I didn’t see the genuine disappointment there. 

“I’m going to go work some more. You’re welcome to play as much XBox as you would like.” 

Baz slides past me cooly and disappears down the hallway. 

Against my better judgement, I follow him. He might throw something at my head or spell me mute if I try and say something. (Not that I even know what to say.) 

He’s sitting at the desk once I open the door and he doesn’t even turn around when I come in. He just stares at his book. I simply pull up the chair next to his and sit there. I carefully put one of my hands on top of his. 

“Tired already?” he asks. And he could mean a lot of things. 

But I just nod in response. I’m not sure how to say what I want to. I’m not sure how to say _I miss you_ and _I’m sorry my job takes me away from you_ and _I’m sorry you’re dating the biggest numpty in the world._ The words keep getting caught somewhere between my throat and my tongue. So I just hold his hand. I squeeze it for all I’m worth and rub my thumb over the tops of his knuckles. 

Baz looks up at me after a bit and I just have to hope that everything I mean — everything I want to say — is getting to him. Every single ounce of caring that I have in my body belongs to him.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Baz (17:34): Hope the stingrays haven’t killed you yet. Update on the dissertation: I’m 40 pages into this book and it’s used the word penetration 50+ times.  _

_ Simon (17:36): did you accidentally grab one of daphne’s porn books again? _

_ Baz (17:37): That would certainly be more interesting than this one.  _

_ Simon (17:42): here i’ll just write one for you rn.  _

_ Simon (17:43): he put his throbbing member inside me.  _

_ Baz (17:43): RIGHT, THAT IS CERTAINLY ENOUGH OF THAT. _

_ Simon (17:44): the story is just getting started! you r definitely gonna wanna know what he does to my nipples.  _

_ Baz (17:44): Stop. Please. I beg of you.  _

_ Simon (17:45): ur just jealous ur not touching my nipples!  _

_ Baz (17:46): That’s neither here nor there.  _

_ Baz (18:03): I wish you were here.  _

_ Simon (18:05): me and my nipples?  _

_ Baz (18:06): I regret this entire conversation. Text me when you’re on your way home so I can stay up for you. _

**SIMON**

I’m surprising Baz today. 

He’s needed a break for the past two weeks especially and he promised me that he wouldn’t work on his dissertation today. He made a list of things he was going to do instead (nap, clean the kitchen,  _ miss his boyfriend,  _ etc.) and texted it to me so I could hold him accountable. I’ve been trying to convince him to take a day off of the dissertation for a while, and now that he’s finally doing it, I secretly got the day off work. 

I’m having someone else cover for the evening and I plan on finishing up my lectures and then rushing back home before Baz gets back from work. I figure if I get there quick enough, I can do some of the things on his list first so his only choice is to nap when he gets back. (Hopefully, that nap will be in my arms.) 

I take the stairs up to our flat two at a time, I’m that excited. I don’t think I’ve ever been this anxious to start chores. But when I open the door quietly and tiptoe inside, I find Baz’s keys in the bowl by the door. His coat that he typically takes to work is on the hooks. 

So, he didn’t go to work. Or maybe he came back early? Perhaps he’s already gotten started on his nap. I don’t mind. I’ll just sneak in and join him. 

Silently, I deposit my ratty trainers neatly by the door so Baz doesn’t hit me over the head with a spatula at the mess (he’s done it before) and carefully hang my jacket next to Baz’s. I leave all the lights off in the kitchen and hallway just in case flicking one on will wake Baz up. A light in our room is on — I can tell by the sliver of light coming out of the cracked open door. He must have fallen asleep with his lamp on. (He doesn’t like the dark very much, especially if I’m not there to hold him.)

When I push the door open carefully, I don’t find a peacefully sleeping Baz like I assumed (and hoped) I would. He’s sitting on the floor with his back pressed up against the side of the desk, his head in his hands and his knees tucked to his chest. His fingers are threaded through his hair and he’s yanking on the strands harshly. I think he might be crying. With another look at the scene, I notice papers and books scattered across the desk. 

I immediately open the door the rest of the way and rush over to Baz, dropping to my knees in front of him. 

“Baz,” I whisper, my hands hovering over his arms, unsure of where  _ or if _ I can touch him right now. I settle on resting one hand on his knee and use the other to still Baz’s hands where they’re tearing at his hair. 

He doesn’t look up at me, but he’s quietly crying now, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not. Like I haven’t seen him cry before. (Hell, I  _ kissed  _ him for the first time while he was crying. Clearly I don’t care.) 

“Hey,” I try again. “Darling, what’s wrong?” 

Although, I can guess what’s wrong. He didn’t end up resting and has been probably been working all day. Schoolwork has been really knocking him down recently, and I’ve never known Baz to back down from a fight, so I think he’s been pushing himself too much. 

(I wish I’d been here to stop this.) 

“Baz, please,” I say, running my fingers over his in what I hope is a comforting gesture. “Let go. Look at me.” 

Finally, after enough soft coaxing, he does. His hands drop to his knees. His face is gaunt. I wonder if he’s eaten anything today. How long has it been since he’s fed? I haven’t even seen him in the last two days. 

“You were supposed to be resting,” I murmur, reaching both hands up to soothe over the top of his head. His hair’s soft and smells nice so he’s recently showered at least.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I thought if I finished this, I could stay up and see you when you got home.” 

It makes my chest ache with affection and a bit of guilt. “You need to take care of yourself,” I say, like he doesn’t already know. I wish I knew what else to say. 

Baz finally looks up at me and his eyes are a bit red, but I think that’s both from crying and from how tired he must be. He frowns a bit, the pout fitting on his features so well and in a way that I’m so used to. “You’re home early,” he remarks. 

I nod. “I came to surprise you,” I say, laughing a bit. “Thought I’d clean the house and make dinner for you. Figured you’d still be at work.” 

He shakes his head. “Left early.” 

I nod again, feeling dumb. 

We sit there for another moment in silence. My hands are still in his hair and I move them down to cradle his jaw. 

“Would you like to get some rest?” I ask. “Can you worry about all this—” I gesture to the papers on the desk behind him, “— later?” 

Baz looks at me gratefully. I know his non-verbal  _ thank you  _ look by now.

I stand up first and reach out my hands to him to help him up. He’s still wearing a dress shirt and nice trousers from work and I let go of his hands in order to start unbuttoning his shirt. I slowly and carefully take it off him while he patiently allows me to. It makes me blush a bit, thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve taken his clothes off and— subsequently— how long it’s been since we’ve had sex. And then I feel bad for even thinking about it. (Maybe after our nap.)

Baz takes off his trousers and I strip off my own shirt before tugging Baz over to the bed. I kiss him gently before pulling the covers up so he can crawl into bed. I move to the other side of the bed but don’t get in quite yet. 

“Wings,” I say, when Baz looks at me like I’ve personally offended him by not getting into bed immediately. 

He nods in understanding and as much as I wish he didn’t like to, he turns and leans up on one of his elbows to watch me. He’s always been fascinated by my wings. 

I focus and clench my fists and my wings break free of their magickal containment, spreading out behind me. It feels akin to the perfect stretch after being hunched over at a desk all day. I roll my shoulders and peel my socks off my feet before clambering into bed next to Baz. 

He immediately settles into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging himself close so I can drape my arms over his shoulders. I drop a kiss on the top of his head.

“You could’ve told me you were leaving work early,” he says. 

I laugh a bit. “Do you know what a  _ surprise  _ is, Basil? That’s not exactly how they work.” 

He tucks his nose against my neck and I squirm from how cold he is. “You’re the worst liar I know,” he retorts, his voice a bit muffled. “And you’re not subtle. Surprises aren’t exactly your area of expertise.” 

I pinch his arm. “I was trying to do something nice for you, prick.” 

He kisses the mole on my neck. “I know.” 

He’s quiet again. I wonder what he’s thinking about. 

Baz’s body feels nice against mine and his hair smells nice so I relax and start to fall asleep. I don’t even bother to set a timer or anything — Baz and I have the whole afternoon to rest. Before I can surrender myself to passing the fuck out, Baz whispers something I don’t manage to catch. 

“What?” I mumble, tightening my grip on him for a moment. 

“I miss you,” Baz says, tilting his head so his mouth is against my ear. 

“I’m right here.” 

“Not what I mean.” 

“I know.” (And I do know. Being apart from Baz this much is one of the hardest things I’ve had to deal with in my adult life.) 

Baz nods against my neck and presses a kiss to my ear. “I’ve  _ been  _ missing you,” he says. 

Not sure how to respond, I kiss the top of his head.

“I’m glad you have your new job,” he whispers. “I am. You seem really happy there. If the stingray talk is anything to go by. But I can’t help but miss you, Simon. I hardly see you anymore.” He’s saying this all so quietly that I wonder if he even wants me to hear him. 

I still can’t think of a word to say. So I don’t say anything. I wonder if Baz knows I’m awake. (Then, I think that’s stupid because I just having a conversation with him twenty seconds ago. Of course he knows.)

Baz doesn’t say anything either. I fall asleep with my boyfriend pressed to my chest and my heart in the pit of my stomach. 

— 

**BAZ**

The lunch I packed Simon is still in the fridge, nestled carefully between my leftovers from last night and Simon’s forgotten lunch from yesterday. I try not to take it personally that he’s been forgetting them recently. I’m sure he’s just eating out for lunch or something. 

I haven’t seen Simon for more than a quick kiss when he gets home for the past three days. His job is great and all, but I’m about ready to explode from missing him so much. I’ve been wanking a lot more recently, too. I’m surprised he can’t fucking smell it on me.  _ (Desperation and Loneliness,  _ a new scent from  _ Tom Ford.) _

Simon took an extra shift today and has been at work for six hours already today. He left just after I went to work this morning even though he usually has late afternoon and evening shifts. 

I’m going to finish editing my dissertation tonight. Once I’ve done that, I can submit it to be peer-reviewed and it’s out of my hands for at least five days. A full five days that I can spend catching up on sleep, working less, and having sex with my boyfriend. (Well, that last one is a  _ hope  _ and not a guarantee, but I think he’ll agree if I pitch this plan to him.) 

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I reach into the fridge to grab my leftovers. I set the container on the counter and tug my phone from my pocket. 

Simon’s calling. 

Which both worries and excites me — he never calls me, especially during work. He’s an avid on-the-job texter. 

“Hi, darling,” I say into the phone as I answer. Just the thought of hearing his voice has me grinning like a lovesick moron. 

It’s not his voice. “Hey, is this Baz?” a feminine voice that I don’t recognize asks. 

“Yes,” I say, apprehensively. “Who is this?” 

“I’m Anna, one of Simon’s coworkers. He, er— well, he passed out. You’re his emergency contact. This is Baz? His boyfriend, right…?” Her voice goes up at the end like she’s waiting for me to get pissed and hang up the phone. 

My heart is in my throat. “Oh,” I say quietly, trying to maintain some composure. “Is he alright?” I ask. It’s a stupid question that I don’t really need the answer to because I’m already tugging on my coat with one hand so I can race down to the aquarium. 

Anna breathes into the phone for a second. “Well, he’s awake. Not unconscious anymore, I guess. He’s still out of it, though. I’m not sure that he ate at all today.” 

My stomach twists and I hurry over to the front door to slip my shoes on and grab my keys. I rush out the door without looking back. “I’ll be right there,” I say. 

“He thought you might say that. He said to tell you he’s fine.” 

“Bullshit,” I snap. And then feel bad, because this Anna sounds nice and I’m not really mad at her. Just concerned for Simon. 

“Sorry, mate,” Anna says. “That’s just what he said.” Then, she adds, under her breath, “Use the west-facing employee entrance. I’ll prop it open for you.” 

I hang up. I get into my car and drive a lot faster than I should. 

There’s too much going through my head right now. Simon’s an adult. He can take care of himself, but most of my body is in bloody fight or flight mode and I have to get there. I have to make sure he’s alright. 

Has he not been eating? Did he get hurt somehow? I should have fucking grilled Anna for information. I’m gagging for a cigarette right now — my hands are all shaky. I don’t even smoke, but maybe it would calm my nerves a bit. 

I pull up to the west employee entrance and park quickly before slipping inside (Anna did indeed prop it open for me) and realizing I have no idea where to go. It’s dark back here and there aren’t any signs pointing me in the right direction. I’m about to just start shouting Simon’s name until someone directs me to him, but I hear a loud bang like something’s been dropped. I’m used to Simon being the source of loud and concerning noises. 

“Baz?” Someone calls from behind me after I’ve trailed down a hallway aimlessly for a minute or so. 

I turn and see a woman I recognize from a photo Simon showed me once — this must be Anna. 

“Yes,” I say immediately. “Simon?” 

She nods and motions for me to follow her. She takes me into a break room of sorts and I let out a relieved huff of breath when I see that Simon’s there, sitting upright, fully conscious. 

He’s got a mug of what I assume is coffee in his hands and when I take a closer look, I see (and smell) the blood on his fingers. When he notices me, he flushes with embarrassment then turns on Anna. “I told you I was fine,” he mutters. 

Anna looks between Simon and I helplessly. “I— he was worried about you,” she says to Simon.

I carefully step closer and slide into the chair next to him. “I don’t know that she could have stopped me,” I say, shooting Anna a grateful look. She takes her cue to leave. 

Simon looks down at his mug. The blood on his fingers has mostly been washed off, but there’s still residue, and I immediately try to find the source of said bleeding. Simon turns a bit and gestures to the back of his head. 

“Fell,” he murmurs simply. “Passed out. Hit my head. It’s fine.” 

I frown at him and reach over to gently place my hand under his chin. I tilt his head towards me and notice the too-pale tone of his skin, the bags under his eyes. The slightly glassy look in his eyes, like he’s just barely woken up from a long nap. 

He’s shaking a bit. 

“Have you been eating?” I demand. 

Simon bites at his bottom lip before taking another sip of the coffee, successfully pulling his chin out of my grasp. “Keep forgetting.”

“I pack you lunches.”

“I know.” 

_ Do you?  _ I want to ask.  _ Because you keep leaving them at home and expecting me not to notice.  _

And then I tell myself that’s not fair. Simon’s under a lot of pressure and it’s not surprising to me that he forgets them at home. 

“Have you been sleeping?” I ask instead, settling one of my hands on top of his on his mug.

He shrugs. “No worse than usual.” He’s still not looking at me. “Do we have to talk about this? I just forgot to bring lunch and didn’t want to take time off to eat so I could get home early. I’m sorry you came all the way down here. I don’t think it was any one thing. I’m just… stressed.” 

I nod slowly. I know he’s stressed. It’s obvious. And I wish there was something I could do for him more than just hold his hand now and tell him I care about him. “Can you take work off tomorrow?” I ask. 

He looks guiltily towards the door. “There won’t be enough people on the night shift. Anna—”

“Anna seems like a very capable worker,” I interrupt, even though I know next to nothing about her. 

Simon slowly looks back at me. “I can ask,” he says. And I try not to take his reluctance personally. 


	4. Chapter 4

_ Simon (20:29): i know u left the crusts on just to spite me but i ate them anyway.  _

_ Simon (20:29): dickhead  _

_ Simon (20:30): ;)  _

_ Baz (20:32): I don’t see why that’s an issue for me. You ate the crusts. You have played right into my evil plans. _

_ Simon (20:35): would you say you were… plotting? plotting for me to eat the crusts? _

_ Baz (20:37): No, Simon. No, I would not.  _

_ Simon (20:38): :(  _

_ Baz (20:40): I would say I was trying to make sure my boyfriend would stay healthy and safe by eating the meal I packed for him. No plotting involved.  _

_ Simon (20:43): that’s pretty gay baz  _

_ Baz (20:45): I am well aware.  _

_ Simon (20:49): thank u for dinner. love u  _

_ Baz (20:52): That’s pretty gay, Simon.  _

_ Simon (20:55): yeah :) _

**BAZ**

“Baz!” 

I raise my eyebrows at the mess of a man who comes tumbling in the door. And I mean literally tumbling. He trips over the edge of the rug and falls to the floor, the door swinging open and smacking the wall behind it. 

Covering up my laugh with my hand, I eye Simon as he stands up and dusts himself off. He sets his bag and his jacket on the edge of the couch before tackling me onto it. This has become a habit of his when I’m home, I suppose. I was already lying on the sofa today in preparation for when he inevitably wanted to lie on top of me there. 

“How was work?” I ask. It’s only about two in the morning right now so I’m lucky to have him home this early. 

Simon grunts and shrugs, shifting his body so he’s lying more comfortably on top of me. I think I’d be complaining if I weren’t practically made of steel. 

“That good?” I ask, teasingly. 

I don’t get a response except for a breathy sigh. Sometimes Simon isn’t in the mood for words. 

After a few minutes of lying there, petting my hands through Simon’s hair and leaving the occasional kiss on the top of his head, I realize he’s asleep. He’s letting out soft snoring whimpers and I laugh to myself. 

I let him have this even if my right leg is asleep. 

**—**

I roll over and remember that Simon had to leave early for a work meeting today. It’s Saturday so I don’t have tutoring but Simon won’t be home until later tonight. His spot in bed is still warm so I curl up and rub my face against the pillow, trying to get any lasting bit of his smell. 

I eventually convince myself that this is pathetic and I get out of bed. There’s a trail of Simon’s clothes heading towards the bathroom and I roll my eyes, picking them up and setting them in the laundry bin on my way to the bathroom. 

When I enter, I do practically a double take. Simon has somehow managed to get toothpaste all over the mirror. It’s like a fucking massacre. 

Upon closer inspection, I discover that the toothpaste is actually saying something. (Well, not  _ saying something.  _ I don’t think there’s a spell for that.) 

Words are written on my mirror in toothpaste. 

Something so idiotic it could only be created by one Simon Snow. 

_ Love you. Blood in freezer. Will bring home—  _

Something. Not sure what the last word is. It looks like it’s been smudged with a sleeve and I wonder if Simon’s walking around at work with toothpaste on his sleeve. I grin at the incredibly sweet image. 

I take a photo of the endearing mess before cleaning it up and hopping in the shower. 

I don’t see Simon for the rest of the day. I knew I wouldn’t. But I know he’s trying, so I can’t bring myself to be upset with him. He’s not supposed to be working tomorrow, so hopefully we can sleep in together. I spend the rest of my day uneventfully — I clean, finish reading my book, and generally miss my boyfriend. 

And when I fall asleep that night, he wakes me up when I get home, pushing a stuffed manta ray into my hands. (Stingray? I keep forgetting the difference.)

I hate to admit it but we cuddle with it between us when we fall back asleep.

**—**

_ Baz (20:28): Have you eaten your dinner yet?  _

_ Simon (20:31): [img attached]  _

_ Simon (20:31): :)  _

_ Baz (20:33): Please chew with your mouth closed, you heathen. No wonder Anna doesn’t like taking her break with you.  _

_ Simon (20:34): oi how do you know that  _

_ Baz (20:35): Anna and I have been in contact.  _

_ Simon (20:37): IN CONTACT  _

_ Simon (20:37): baz wtf  _

_ Baz (20:38): What can I say? We both care about your well-being and sometimes she texts me photos of you while you’re working.  _

_ Simon (20:40): that has to be some sort of invasion of privacy  _

_ Simon (20:43): baaaAaaazz  _

_ Baz (20:45): Sorry, I got distracted by another photo Anna sent me. You look very nice today.  _

_ Simon (20:46): i’m really upset with you _

_ Simon (20:47): i’m gonna kiss u so hard when i get home  _

_ Baz (20:48): Well then, I can’t wait. Saving Anna’s number was the best decision I’ve ever made.  _

_ Simon (20:50): fuck you  _

_ Baz (20:52): I hope you do. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!! thanks for reading all of this :) I had a great time writing it. 
> 
> just a warning that this chapter contains non-explicit sex.

**SIMON**

_We have all night,_ I keep telling myself. _Take your time. Remember this. Notice it._

I’ve always been one to jump headfirst into things, not caring about the consequences or thinking about what I’m doing. But, when I’m with Baz like this — stretched out on our bed, his hands pinned underneath mine on either side of his head, me inside of him — I have to force myself to focus. To watch, to listen. To pay attention to the sounds he makes and how his face looks when I do something he particularly enjoys. 

And we haven’t had this in so long. I can’t even remember the last time we did more than kiss. (I think Baz has been wanking a lot even though he won’t admit it to me.) He seems even more desperate tonight than usual — not that I’m not just as desperate. We were both gagging for it the moment he got home from work — we fell into bed the moment I promised him I didn’t have to go into work tonight. 

He’s being loud right now, which tears me out of my head. He’s whimpering and pressing into me, twisting his wrists in my grip. It’s all for show, the bastard. He could wrench out of my grip with quite little effort if he really wanted to. He won’t, though. I think he likes this too much. Likes me holding him.

He’s cold against my chest, but warm against my hips. And when I look down at him, the sight of him like this — his cheeks slightly pink, mouth open and soft, sharp fangs bared wickedly, and his hair all fanned out around him on the pillow — I’m warm inside my torso. 

**BAZ**

Simon’s taking his time with me, gently touching and pressing and making love to me like he has no other care in the world. Like we haven’t been missing each other for weeks. 

It’s absolutely wrecking me. 

I’m so full of love — so full of _him_ — that my skin feels clammy, like I’m going to sweat out my adoration for this absolute idiot boyfriend of mine. 

I know I’m being loud. I don’t think Simon minds by the way he keeps egging me on, peppering kisses around my face and along my jaw, taking me apart in more ways than one. 

Bracing my legs around his waist, I throw my head back to give him more access to my skin. I want him to mark me so that even when it’s tomorrow and I’m alone at work and pitifully texting Simon that I miss him, I’ll have this bit of him. (It’s stupid and hickeys are things I thought I left in my teenage years, but I can’t help but want it. I want it so bad.)

I miss him. 

I love him. 

**SIMON**

I love him. 

I missed him.

I decide to tell him that, because when else am I going to get the courage to? 

Leaning down, I press my mouth against Baz’s ear, not stopping the motions of my hips. “I missed you,” I whisper. 

He groans. “I missed you too.” His voice is wrecked and breathy and it makes me grip his wrists a bit tighter just for a moment. 

“I missed _this,”_ I add.

Baz’s legs tighten around my hips and his breath comes out in short little pants like his feelings make it hard for him to maintain steady breath flow. “I miss you,” he says. 

And when he falls apart, he holds me so tight that there’s no difference between him and me at that moment. 

There’s a lot that’s unsaid between Baz and I. Sometimes we’re bad at communication. It’s hard for me to tell him I love him, and I think he’s too stubborn for his own good. And it’s easier to suffer in silence when something is hurting us than to bring it up. 

But Baz and I are adults now. We have to navigate this world.

So, as I’m lying on my back next to Baz, chest heaving and body still recovering, I turn onto my side to look at my boyfriend. He opens his eyes and flicks them to me. 

“I told my boss I can’t work weekends anymore,” I say. “And that I’d like Tuesdays off. They just hired someone new who, er, can take some of my later shifts.” He’s not saying anything, just staring at me like I’m a numpty, so I charge ahead, determined to get out what I need to say. “I’ll be making less, but I promise I’ll keep up my half of the rent. I just— I just wanted to be around more. Around for you—” 

I don’t get to finish because my mouth is being invaded by my boyfriend’s mouth and tongue. A not unwelcome intruder. 

I kiss Baz back just as deeply, reaching up to slide my fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty and it makes me giggle against his mouth. This is the only time I get to see Baz this debauched. 

“You don’t have to work less just for me,” Baz says, pulling back and looking at me with _that look_ in his eyes. Does he not know I’d do anything for him? 

Shaking my head, I counter, “It’s not just for you. It wasn’t good for me either.” It’s hard to admit. “But, also, I missed you.” I feel like I need to say more but the words won’t come out in the right way — in the way that Baz needs right now. 

Baz smiles. “I missed you too.” 

“And now that your dissertation is done…” I say, trailing off hopefully. 

Baz kisses the mole under my eye. “Now that my dissertation is done,” he says, confirming. We both know what it means. 

It means more sex. It means watching movies together until Baz falls asleep in my arms. It means waking up together when Baz has to leave for work so we can eat breakfast. It means date nights where Baz takes me to some posh restaurant and I inevitably make a fool of myself by spilling sauce on my shirt. 

It means more _Baz._

_More us._


End file.
